


Heretic Pride

by allegheny



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Incorrect use of a batting cage, Jock Straps, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Philadelphia Phillies, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 05:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19761814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegheny/pseuds/allegheny
Summary: "[...]He and Realmuto were in hitting slumps and decided to perform their own version of a slump-buster. They took extra batting practice one afternoon. Wearing nothing but their jock straps."It's not been a great first half by any means.To ward off Bryce's worries, J.T.'s got a great idea, straight from his Miami days.





	Heretic Pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eovaldi (dangerdays)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerdays/gifts).



> Originally this was for a Baseball Boys of Summer prompt, but I took some liberties here, so I gotta write another one now. FFS.  
> Everybody knows Bryce has it baaaad for J.T.... strictly professionally.  
> Inspired by[ this article](https://eu.usatoday.com/story/sports/mlb/columnist/bob-nightengale/2019/05/21/derek-dietrich-cincinnati-reds-mlb/3750887002/), bless your heart, Derek Dietrich.

"It's... frustrating, you know. Like, I just need to click. And it hasn't happened yet. It's like last year."

Bryce is looking in the mirror in the locker room, balancing a contact lens on his finger, carefully popping it in.  
J.T. hooks his hoodie in his stall. Tomorrow, the second half starts, and he just came back from Cleveland to find he wasn't the only one clocking in early at the ballpark for a refresher.

"I just need to get that groove going, you know. Just need to get hot."

Bryce puts down his street glasses in his own locker, blinking a few times to let the contacts settle in. There's a lot of things people get wrong about him. J.T. already knew he wasn't the arrogant brat he was made out to be, and he'd played against him enough to know he was a hard worker. What he'd discovered since arriving in Philadelphia, though, was that Bryce really wasn't as self-confident as he would have thought.  
He was self-critical ; he took the blame for things that had nothing to do with him. Maybe he was just treading lightly, maybe he was just anxious not to appear overbearing ; after all, he was Bryce Harper, baseball's chosen one. But when he'd come up to J.T. after landing in Florida and excitedly reminded him that he was his favorite player, J.T. had seen an undeniable sincerity in his shows of humbleness.

Anyway.  
He can relate to what Bryce is saying.  
He hasn't had the best first half, either. He's a bit stumped by it : he'd always been a decent hitter at CBP, and with leaving Marlins Park, and the juiced ball and whatnot, he thought he'd be padding his home run stats.  
He's proud of his framing, proud of his defensive stats, but he knows his pitching staff.  
They need backup. In the form of runs. Which he seems unable to produce.

"Yeah, I feel that." He mutters, checking the laces on his cleats. "We gotta fix that. Plenty of baseball left to play."

"Aw, don't give me the press conference soundbites." Bryce brushes off, not without a smile in his voice. "I need a slump-buster, man."

J.T. lifts his eyes from his feet. Bryce is in compression legging and practice shorts, wearing that shirt that says "Barreldelphia" from the start of the season.  
He's still growing that hair out, and it looks pretty good, all thick and golden. J.T. never liked having his get in the way — Besides, it's better to have it buzzed if he's going to wear a baseball cap most of the year. So he's always kept it cropped. He can't say he's ever tried the longer look, to be fair. He always gets annoyed with it before it can grow past the weird mullet stage, and he's too lazy to actually style it.

It'd never look as good as Bryce's, anyway. There's one preconception about him that is completely true : he's pretty vain. With his big, clear blue eyes, those curated eyebrows, that carefully tailored beard and that mane on top of his head, he's as much of a fussy heartthrob as J.T.'s ever seen in baseball. That kind of look doesn't always translate to guys that will let him have at it in the showers, but usually, if they have that much flow in the wrist and that angle to their hips, it's a safe bet that they've sucked dick after-hours in a minor league clubhouse.  
Not that he thinks that golden boy Bryce Harper had enough time in the minors to pick out the guy with a little too much swagger for someone who's never making it to the majors and determine that he would be down for a quickie in the away clubhouse toilets.  
But when he imagines himself with his fingers tangled in that hair, tugging that pretty head back, he knows it's within the realm of possibility.

He doesn't usually do this with position players : as a catcher, it's just easier to find a quiet bullpen guy who will suck his dick during game planning. To be fair, it's a good way to assert his authority, too. Nothing calms a tantrum-prone stubborn thirty year old with an over-masculine ego like being pushed to his knees and given a dick to put in his mouth.  
It's just tried and true.

But Bryce doesn't need an ego check. He just seems like he wants cock. J.T.'s not stupid. He may be admirative of J.T.'s baseball skills, but he knows a crush when he sees one. Not that he isn't flattered. Not that he doesn't want to do Bryce. But he's not exactly subtle.  
There's another guy J.T.'s had the pleasure to have a nice casual relationship with who was just as eager, and he's also the guy who's going to help J.T. get laid right now.

"Huh." He raises his eyebrows, standing up. "Well, if you need a slump-buster, I could have something for you."

"Honestly, I'd try anything right now." Bryce replies dramatically — Christ, it's not like he's hitting sub-.200.

J.T. dusts himself off, leaning his hips into a nice, dominant pose, pivoting towards his locker to let Bryce see the curve of his ass. He knows that one's a killer. Sure enough, Bryce's eyes slide down to his lower back.

"Well, it's a little unconventional... Courtesy of my time in the minors with Dietrich." he continues.

"Oh man. I don't know what to expect now." Bryce smirks.

"It works though." J.T. cocks his head, raising his eyebrows, hands on his hips.

"I'll try it." Bryce agrees, crossing his arms decisively but leaning forwards with interest ever so slightly.

J.T. can only let out a short, measured laugh. Perfect. He straightens up, standing back on his heels, and nods down at Bryce.

"Okay, then. Strip down."

Bryce raises his eyebrows. J.T. just smiles, and pops his own shorts' button. His feet are planted just far enough apart, his hips angled forwards just enough, and he can see Bryce's eyes gliding up and down, can see the effect he's having as he pulls on his waistband.

"...Okay?"

Bryce follows suit, stepping out of his shorts, pulling off his t-shirt. He's in leggings, his smooth, muscular bust dusted with a few straw-blond hairs. He keeps glancing at J.T., who's purposefully taking his time so that he can watch Bryce oggle.

"See... Derek and I, we were having a bad time in Double-A... and it was hot, and the guy just loves taking his shirt off." He explains, pulling his shirt over his head. "Keep your shoes on." he adds, off-hand.

Out the corner of his eye, he watches Bryce tugging the skin-tight spandex off his legs and over his cleats, his plump, tight little ass up and on display in his red jock strap. Bryce stands back up, his spine rolling smoothly, and he looks back at J.T. — crotch first, then up the faint happy trail, across his carefully kept torso, and back up to his face.  
He makes J.T. want to chuckle again : the dude's really not trying to hide what he wants. He flashes teeth and shifts to his other leg, which brings Bryce's own smile back too.

"So..." Bryce quips, cheekily almost. "What's next...?"

"Okay." J.T. readjusts himself, grinning now. "Let's go take BP."

"Like this?" Bryce looks down at himself, in his underwear, socks and shoes, then up at J.T., stopping noticeably to his front package.

"Yep!" J.T. says, undeniably amused by Bryce's blatantness. "Let's go."

And he promptly starts walking towards the dugout steps. Bryce follows.  
There's no coaches in today to throw practice, but there's a pitching machines set up on the field in front of the cage at home plate.

"So..." Bryce says, his voice carrying inside the empty arena. "We're taking batting practice in our jock straps."

"Yep." J.T. confirms, picking up one of his bats from the dugout, and walking up on the field, the wind crisp on his bare body and the sun already hot on his skin. "Jock strap batting practice."

He hears Bryce laugh a little, taking one of his own bats.

"Okay then."

Bryce trots back up to his side, stretching his shoulders with a few extra windmills. J.T. glances at him, noting the bobbing of his chest muscles, the trimmed armpits, the suitably muscular arms in action. He'd look great on a bed, arms pulled above his head. He considers the thought for a second, adds a few whiny moans to the fantasy, because there's no way Bryce isn't a whiner, and walks up to the pitching machine, setting it on.

"Easy fastballs." he announces, walking back to home plate with his bat on his shoulder. Bryce is standing around, leaning onto the structure of the cage. He's not just a sweet guy and a great teammate : he's a nice-looking specimen, lean but solid, all toned with rounded muscles and soft golden fuzz. Hard to pass on those long, high sock-clad legs and that strong waist, on these little dark pink nipples. His stomach has a cute little drop to it, his hips a little plumpness, too. Up front is nothing to write home about, but he has the ass to make up for it.  
God damn, J.T. loves being around athletes.

He takes his position in the cage, and takes a couple good swings, sending a ball out into the seats on the third one. He can feel Bryce looking at him, can see him shuffling to a better vantage point.  
Cute.  
He wiggles a little. He remembers his own awkwardness, and even self-consciousness when Derek and him stepped out on the field in Jacksonville and how Derek's gaze felt on him, almost predatory, in a good way. Even though he'd spent part of his teenage years in a skin tight wrestling suit twisting about on a mat in front of dozens of people, he'd rarely felt so exposed than right then, with Derek's eyes shamelessly taking him in. But J.T. had loved being Derek's prize. As far as a baseball wife went, Derek had been a great catch.  
Now it's his turn to be confident. Bryce is tentative in his staring, shifting at the side of the cage, swinging his bat around, chewing his lip nervously.  
It's adorable.

J.T. straightens up, rolling his shoulders, letting a pitch waste, and locks Bryce's blue eyes with his. Bryce holds it, but soon enough breaks eye contact, a little flippantly, darting from his side to the ground to a variety of spots in the middle distance ahead of his shoes — but not at J.T..

J.T. decides he's had enough of a demonstration. He takes the bat off his shoulder, and steps out of the cage, motioning to Bryce.

"Your turn."

Bryce grins down at the dirt, a little hesitant.

"Alright..." he says, stepping to home plate.

He takes a few swings. They're smooth, and he hits every pitch, clean and lined out to the outfield, with nice finishes that leave his body proud and extended, his bared ass perked, round, perfect as he poses while a ball flies into Ashburn Alley.

"Nice." J.T. whistles, and when Bryce glances back, he makes sure he's looking at his lower back and not the ball. You can't overdo obviousness.

Bryce seems unfazed. He continues hitting, his handsome, tan body twisting with the swings. J.T. could watch forever. He loves the little bounce of his asscheeks when he locks in. There's a smattering of light, thin brown hair on them, and it's lovely. J.T.'s already imagining himself pawing at them, his thumbs digging into those dimples on his lower back, just above the waistband of the jock.  
Bryce rips one out to opposite field, and scoffs at himself proudly.

"Hah! Maybe it's working." he exclaims, assuming batting stance again.

He glances back at J.T. again, and there's something different in his eyes. Maybe he's catching on. He hits a long one out into right field, and after that, he bends over, and pulls up his high socks, giving J.T. a full view of his crack.

J.T. shifts. That's what does it. He feels blood rushing down, and when he looks down, his underwear is bulging a little. As Bryce steps back into the box, his ass bouncing slightly, J.T. reaches down, and starts palming at himself, in what's not exactly the most discreet way.  
That's fine, because he wants Bryce to see him.

There's a thrill to it, standing in this big open space almost naked and touching himself like this, so compiscuously. It goes straight to his crotch. He watches Bryce, leisurely, like he's a video, stroking down through the stretchy maroon cotton.  
Bryce hits another one out, and he lets out a contended sigh as he squeezes at his dick. He's starting to get hard, so he stalks back to the edge of the cage, leaning on the structure, where Bryce will be facing him.  
It takes him a second, but J.T.'s slowly moving hand and ostentatious pose is hard to ignore.  
The next pitch rolls to the back of the cage, unswung at, Bryce's bat still on his shoulder as he stares at J.T.'s hand, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth ajar.  
The awed look sends a pang to J.T.'s dick, and he finally tugs at himself, tilting his head to expose his neck and rest his temple against the cage's padded pillar, letting out a quiet, breathy little moan that he knows will get Bryce hot.

Bryce stays frozen like this for a second, but J.T. doesn't stop. He picks up the pace, rubbing down as his hardening cock starts stretching the fabric of the jock.

"Bryce." He hums seductively, and Bryce straightens up stiff as a pole, like he's about to be scolded.

The machine shoots another pitch, but Bryce doesn't even flinch. He's fixing J.T.'s hand, the clothed bulge of his cock, and J.T. licks his lips slowly, languidly lidding his eyes, putting on a show for him.

"Think I need a little help over here." he says sweetly.

He thrusts his hips, and that has an immediate effect on Bryce. He squeezes his lips together, and furiously looks up at the sky.

"Shit." he lets out, and he drops his bat behind his back, and marches up to J.T..

He grabs his face, pushing his chest flush against him, and kisses him hungrily.  
J.T. reaches down to cup Bryce's dick right away, and starts rubbing both of them off. Bryce doesn't take long to get hard. He's on the small size of average, the kind of cute dick J.T. can hold in his hand and tug just right to get the kind of moaning he's looking for.  
And he does : within seconds he has Bryce breaking away to throw his head back and gasp, before going back in to kiss him, sloppy and dirty.  
J.T. has a hand on himself and a hand on Bryce, jacking the both of them off as their tongues tangle and their bodies get closer. It doesn't take long for Bryce to push his hips against J.T.'s and start grinding, letting J.T. grab at his ass with both hands as Bryce frots their hard-ons together, his hands anchored onto J.T.'s shoulders. J.T. contentedly paws at Bryce's ass, squeezing it, digging his fingers into it : its muscular, fleshy, it has give but firmness, and J.T. can't wait to fuck it.

He pulls away, panting, and slaps Bryce's thigh possessively.

"Turn around. Bend over."

Bryce lets go of him, licking his lips, his whole face glowing red in the sun. He's rock hard in his underwear, wrapping a hand against himself as he does what J.T. asked for.  
J.T. plants his hands on each of Bryce's cheeks, spreading them and grabbing a bottle of water from the corner of the cage. He uncaps it, and pours it all over Bryce's ass, making the younger man yelp and almost stumble away.

"What the fuck!" he gasps.

"Calm down!" J.T. groans. "It's just water."

Bryce seems to understand, and settles back down, his knees flexed and using his free hand to grab onto one of the cage's beams, balancing himself. J.T. claps his palm on Bryce's wet ass, admires how it shines with the water, how the firm muscle ripples.

"Fucking... get on with it already." Bryce protests, audibly aroused nonetheless.

"Impatient. Jesus." J.T. comments, before spitting on his middle finger for extra glide and pushing it up Bryce's ass.

Bryce takes it without a sound : he's definitely been there and done that. He gives way easily, J.T. pressing two fingers, then three fingers in. He curves his fingers down and tears a soft moan from Bryce, which only calls more attention to his erection.  
So he pushes the front pocket of the jock out of the way, taking it out, and runs his soggy hand over the sensitive length of his cock. He tugs a couple times, lines himself up, and pushes in.

Bryce makes the louder noise : somewhere between a yelp and a moan.  
He feels great, hot and tight as he arches back to welcome J.T. in.  
He goes slow, deliberate at first, letting himself enjoy it, stroking up Bryce's waist to let him get used to him. But when Bryce pushes his ass back for more, J.T. can't help himself : he grabs his waistband with one hand and tugs on the strap underneath his left asscheek with the other, letting it slap back against his thigh before starting to thrust in and out smoothly.

Predictably, Bryce is _loud_. He's all moans and whimpers, keening with every thrust, attempts at muffling himself pointless and half-hearted.  
But he's squeezing for J.T., pushing back in rhythm, his ass sweet and tight and bouncing every time J.T.'s hips connect with it.

"That's it." he groans. "You doing that for me?"

"Yeah..." Bryce gasps.

"Being good for my dick?"

"Yeah...!"

Fuck. The sun's beating down hard on his shoulders, and Bryce's moans echo ever so slightly in the empty ballpark, and Bryce knows what he's doing, and it's so hot in every ways imaginable, the rolling of Bryce's back muscles, the way he throws back his head. J.T. reaches up for his hair, tugging a little, and he sees Bryce's arm start moving faster on his dick.

"You like that?" He growls at him, pulling at his hair harder. "You like that?" he repeats, tugging again.

Bryce makes an appreciative noise. They're both close. J.T.'s sweating. He pulls out, earning a needy moan from Bryce, and slaps his dick on top of his tailbone, between the little dimples. He can't help from groaning, and it only takes him a few seconds to come, shooting up Bryce's curved back, come pooling in the dip of his spine. The feeling seems to push Bryce over the edge, because he gives a couple high-pitched moans, and bucks, J.T.'s hands firmly grabbing at his hips as he rides himself out, fucking into his quickly moving fist.

"God." Bryce finally groans, panting.

He straightens up a little, and turns around, looking a little woozy. The front of his underwear is wet. He pulls on it, looking down inside, and cringing.

"And I thought maybe I could wear that as is again. For good luck." He comments, smiling up at J.T., his voice a little faint with post-orgasm haze.

J.T. raises an eyebrow, tucking his own dick back in.

"I don't see the problem."

Bryce flushes even deeper than he already is right now, his face all sweaty from the effort.  
J.T. watches him reach back, scooping some of his come from his back with the tip of his finger.  
Staring into J.T.'s eyes, he licks it, tasting it.  
If he hadn't just come, J.T. would be hard again. Bryce just smiles mischievously.

"Well. I hope this whole slump buster thing works. Maybe if it does we can do it again."

"How'd you think I made it to the majors?" J.T. replies, giving his hip a slap.

Bryce just laughs. He looks adorable like this, as he leans into J.T.'s chest, looking up at him.

"So... do you wanna grab something to eat, or something?"

J.T. picks up his bat, hooking his arm around Bryce's waist.

"That sounds great. Let's dress back up first, though."

J.T. allows himself to linger on the fact Bryce wants to do this again, and he guides him off the field, satisfied and filled with confidence for the future.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write unsafe sex lmao I don't like to do it. but honestly this is the most fantastical fucking porn scenario anyway, so I just went for it
> 
> I guess... leave a comment if you liked it?


End file.
